“Your revolver. I watched you oil it on the train, and then you used it in the scuffle. I know you’re not a Chimera and don’t have magic… So how did you manage a shot like that?”
“You want to know about guns?” she asked timidly.
“If you’ll teach me.” Cvareh prayed he hadn’t misread the hopeful note in her voice incorrectly.
Florence was moving again. Spurred back to life, she rummaged through her bag on the floor, pulling from it a small red tin that Cvareh recognized instantly as her gun care set, another medium-sized box where she kept her powders, and her weapon. She moved off her stool to sit in front of him on the floor.
Cvareh lusted after the empty stool that would insulate him from the grime and dirt, but he made no motion. His clothes were ugly and dirty, and the stool was really no cleaner. It certainly wouldn’t be comfortable. Plus, Florence had already set up shop in front of him, and this was for her.
“Well, it’s notthatcomplicated.” She put the revolver between them, pointing to different parts. “You have the hammer, the cylinder, the trigger, the barrel and the muzzle. The hammer cocks back, engaging the trigger when you’re ready to fire. It strikes against a canister in the chamber and that exchange of force causes a chemical or magical reaction—a small explosion.” Her voice lifted on the last word. “That explosion is sent through the barrel and out the muzzle, propelling a bullet. Or whatever else is in the canister.”
She held up a small chunk of metal. It was pointed on one end and flat on the other. Cvareh accepted it from her to inspect, pleased the action delighted her.
“The bullet sits on this end of the canister, near the primer—that’s what the hammer hits.” She produced a long hollow tube that, sure enough, the bullet could be fitted into. “What I fill the canister with, and how much, determines the type of shot.”
“But how does magic come into play?” Cvareh passed back the canister and bullet to Florence and picked up the gun. The hammer and muzzle were gold. Poured into the side of the barrel were golden shapes he vaguely recognized, but couldn’t place. He peered down the barrel and noted the inside was gold as well.
Florence’s fingers wrapped around the barrel, pulling it away from him. “Never point the muzzle of a gun at something unless you’re ready to shoot it.”
“But it’s not loaded.” Cvareh didn’t appreciate being treated like a child.
“It isn’t now. But it could’ve been. It’s just good practice. Every young Revolver learns that.”
“Ah, Flor, if he wants to point guns at his face, why don’t we let him? It’s not like the shot would kill him. Maybe he should learn the hard way and have to sit around a few weeks like a blob while he grows back part of his brain,” Arianna quipped unhelpfully.
“If he wants to learn, he should learn the right way.” Florence turned to look at her master and Cvareh followed the girl’s stare.
He opened his mouth to retort with equal sarcasm, but the look on Arianna’s face stilled him. She looked past Florence, who continued on about something, and stared straight at him. Her rounded face was relaxed, her lips forming a thin line that he would almost dare call an appreciative smile. Cvareh gave her a small nod, swallowing down the bitterness her verbal jab had filled his mouth with. Arianna shifted her eyes to Florence, and made him question entirely if he’d read the expression wrong.
“In any case,” Florence continued, turning back to him, “the magic lies in the runes. It’s something the Alchemists developed, similar to tempering metal. A Chimera, or Dragon I suppose, charges the metal with magic. Different shapes hold different types of magic.”
She cocked the hammer back, showing him the striking point. Sure enough, there was a rune there that mirrored a similar one etched onto the flat end of the canister. Cvareh turned the canister over once more, staring in wonder.Magic that could be used to manipulate the physical world.For half of his life, for centuries on Nova, it was something that couldn’t be done. Magic existed only in the mind, the realm of the ephemeral. It couldn’t be used to make explosions, lift gliders, turn wheels or do half the other things the Fenthri had been able to devise. For as strong as the Dragons were and had always been, there were things that eluded them—things the Fenthri could do and they could not.
He passed the canister back to Florence and his hand fell to the folio around his waist. That was why he was on Loom. It was that power he sought, to change the natural order and challenge the laws of the world. The power Cvareh hoped could build an army and lead his family to victory.
“But,” Florence continued, “as time goes on the runes can lose their magic, or get worn down.”
“They need to be recharged,” Cvareh reasoned.
“Which is where Arianna comes in.” Florence directed the tiniest of smiles at the gun, rather than her teacher.
Arianna looked weary as she echoed a similar expression, unbeknownst to the girl. “I think I’ll go and work a bit. And figure out what ship is headed for Ter.4.2, and how we’re getting on it.”
Florence didn’t acknowledge Arianna for the first time. She didn’t even turn. The older woman stood, waiting, crumbling under the weight of the silence from her pupil.
Here it is, then. The one thing that could break the White Wraith.
Catching his eyes, Arianna’s face transformed. She shot him a nasty look and stormed out the room. It was a glancing blow, a warning. They both knew the longer they stayed around each other, the more familiar they would become. No matter how hard she tried, he would learn her secrets, at least some.
But that would come in the days leading to the Alchemists’ Guild. For now, Cvareh focused on one task at a time. And there was still unfinished business sitting before him.
“Flor.” He tried out Arianna’s familiar name for the girl. She looked up in surprise, but didn’t scold him for using it. “Why don’t you want to go to Ter.4.2?”
Her fingers ran over her gun kit, as though she couldn’t decide what tool she needed to solve the problem presented to her. When that proved futile, she moved onto her powder box, shifting through the various tins. But Cvareh knew her answers weren’t in there either. He was patient, and waited for her to come to that conclusion on her own.
“I was born a Raven.” Her fingers finally stopped moving when they rested on her cheek. “But I wasn’t any good at it—useless, really…”
“You got a mark,” Cvareh pointed out.
